


Try Try Again

by jessalae



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Community: eleventy_kink, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 17:53:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessalae/pseuds/jessalae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Anyway, I was thinking about what you said you want — what you really want. And.” He clears his throat, looking off to the side. “I think I can help you with that.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Try Try Again

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on eleventy_kink; originally posted to my Dreamwidth January 3, 2011.

Amy sneaks up behind him while he’s bent over the console, fiddling with one of the hundreds of unlabeled little dials. She leans against the edge of the console, crossing one long leg over the other and arching her back like a pin-up girl.

“So, Doctor,” she says. “I was wondering.”

“Hm?” he says.

“You’ve had other people travel with you before, yeah?”

“Loads of them,” the Doctor says absentmindedly.

“What were they like?” Amy asks, tossing her hair.

“Oh, all sorts,” the Doctor says. “Why?”

“Have they all been girls like me?”

“No. Well, mostly girls, but not all like you. Every one was different.” The Doctor pauses in his adjustments for a moment and frowns. “Although they all did have your habit of getting themselves into trouble, that’s pretty much been a constant?”

“And they were all whisked away by a magic man in a magic box to places they’ve never dreamed of?”

“Suppose so,” the Doctor says.

“And _none_ of them ever wanted to shag you besides me?” Amy asks incredulously.

The Doctor’s fingers slip on the console, and something pops and sparks. He straightens up and waves away the smoke, staring at Amy with wide eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

Amy slides closer to him. “I can’t really be the _only_ one, can I? I mean,” she purrs, running a finger down his chest, “You are kind of brilliant.”

“Well, I—” the Doctor starts, halfway between smugness and terror. Amy doesn’t let him finish the sentence, though, grabbing him by the shoulders and kissing him with enthusiasm.

The Doctor flails his way out of the kiss, backing up so quickly he nearly loses his balance. “Bad idea,” he says. “Bad, bad, _bad_ idea.”

“So you’ve done it before, then, and it didn’t work out?” Amy asks, raising an eyebrow.

“No, I haven’t, but I told you—” the Doctor begins, but Amy steps close to him and gets a good grip on his braces.

“Then how can you know you won’t enjoy it?” she interrupts in a low voice, her breath ghosting across his mouth.

“Amy,” he says, a warning, but she kisses him anyway. Her teeth nip at the corner of his mouth and her tongue slides along his lips, almost teasing its way between them.

The Doctor wrenches his braces out of her fists and steps back, putting up a hand to stop her advance.

“That’s not the point,” he says. “We’re not doing… _this_.”

Something in his voice makes Amy back off, nodding silently, and he goes back to work. She notices he’s re-calibrating dials that he’s already re-calibrated, though, and that his grip on his screwdriver seems more white-knuckled than usual.

Intrigued, she resolves to try again.

 

He’s in the wardrobe, this time, picking out a new shirt — his red one is currently more hole than shirt, showing swathes of pale skin where the acid ate through the fabric. Amy doesn’t try to hide her approach, sauntering down the long racks of clothing, peering at a dress here, a coat there. Finally she comes up beside him. He’s holding two virtually identical white shirts, ignoring the fact that the rags of his old shirt have started to slip off his shoulders.

“What do you think?” he asks, holding one of the new shirts up in front of his chest. “Too boring?”

“Let me see,” she says, taking the hangers from him. She hums in indecision, holding up one, then the other.

“You know what I think, Doctor?” she says, her face serious.

“What?” he asks.

Amy leans over him, hooking the shirts back onto the rack in one smooth motion but leaving her arms draped around his neck. “I think you look better without one,” she whispers, and kisses him again. She sucks on his lower lip, running her hands down the smooth plane of his back and around to his chest. She’s so absorbed in the kiss and the touch of the Doctor’s skin that she doesn’t even notice him reaching back behind himself until he pulls a shirt off the rack with a clatter, holding it in front of himself like a shield.

“I thought I told you, we’re not doing this,” he says, pulling the remains of his old shirt off and shrugging into the new one.

“Fine,” Amy says, “But I’m going to keep asking until you give me a reason why not.”

“I’ve given you reasons why not,” he mutters, trying to fasten his cuffs and keep an eye on her at the same time.

“ _Good_ reasons why not,” she amends.

“There are very good reasons why not,” he says, doing up the front of the shirt. “And you knew they were when I first told you.” His hands pause, and he looks at her intently. “You _knew_ , Amy. Didn’t you?”

Amy frowns. “I don’t remember.”

The Doctor nods once, sadly. “And _that’s_ why we can’t do this,” he says, buttoning the last button and striding out of the wardrobe.

Even after thinking about it for a few days, Amy still has no idea what the Doctor was on about. It isn’t the first incomprehensibly cryptic warning he’s given her, though, and she really doubts it’ll be the last, so she decides to do what she usually does and just ignore it.

 

The Doctor is the one to bring it up next, actually, during a visit to the wind-swept plains of Zebulon 6. He’s leaning against the side of the TARDIS, picking apart a blade of grass to inspect its vascular structure. Amy bounces up next to him.

“This is a nice planet,” she says, brushing her hair out of her face. “Not much going on.”

“Well, not at the moment,” the Doctor says. “Give it a few millennia and a bit of alpha radiation, this grass will be nearly as smart as you.” He looks at her puzzled expression and clears his throat. “Anyway, yes, I thought I’d give us a bit of a rest.”

“From what?” Amy asks.

“Oh, you know,” the Doctor says. “Running, jumping, near-death experiences… for a start.”

“You realize that that’s… kind of what we do,” Amy says.

“Course, course,” the Doctor says. “I just thought you might want a break from all that. I mean, the pressure must be getting to you, only so much adventure a girl can handle and all that.” 

When Amy looks at him blankly, he flicks the piece of grass back to the ground and stares off to the side, tugging at his cuffs. “You’ve been acting strangely, sometimes, and I thought it all might be a bit much for you,” he says.

“Acting strangely how?” Amy asks.

“You know,” the Doctor says, staring off to the side even more firmly. “You’ve been…” he gestures wildly between them, his hands describing shapes Amy can’t hope to parse. “Attacking me,” he finishes finally, red in the face.

Amy stares at him for a moment. Then she throws back her head and laughs, leaning against the side of the TARDIS.

“It isn’t funny, Amy,” the Doctor says, frowning.

“You really think I’ve been coming on to you because I’m cracking up?” Amy says through her laughter.

“It was a theory,” the Doctor says stubbornly.

“Oh, Doctor,” Amy says, transitioning from mirthful to sultry in the blink of an eye. She whirls, pinning the Doctor against the side of the TARDIS with her whole body.

“It doesn’t matter how many close calls we’ve had recently,” she says, kissing up the side of his neck until she reaches his ear. “That’s not what this is.”

“What is this, then?” the Doctor asks, standing perfectly still, his voice hoarse.

Amy smiles, tilts her head up, and whispers, “I just want to get laid.”

The Doctor ducks down and sideways, scooting out of her grip before she can react, and wrenches the TARDIS door open.

“Yes, well,” he says, then seems to think better of it and steps back into the TARDIS, shutting the door with an audible click.

Amy’s heart drops through her stomach. She knocks frantically on the door, yelling for the Doctor at the top of her lungs, expecting to hear the familiar grating sound of takeoff any second now. Instead, the TARDIS stays perfectly quiet, an innocent blue box in a sea of soon-to-be-sentient grass. It also stays quite locked, no matter how loud Amy screams.

After a while Amy gets tired and slumps against the side of the TARDIS, letting her head fall back and her eyes close. She’s only there for a few minutes, though, when she hears the door swing open and the grass rustle. She opens her eyes and squints — the Doctor is perfectly silhouetted against the setting sun.

“Sorry about that,” the Doctor says quietly. “You’d better come inside.”

She follows him in, keeping her distance carefully. He leads her past the console, up some stairs, down a hallway, and into a small room. Her eyes widen when she sees the bed, big and plush and covered in fresh sheets.

“Doctor?” she says warily.

The Doctor walks a few steps further into the room and stops, turning to face her. “I was thinking about what you said,” he begins, rocking back and forth in obvious discomfort. “Sorry I had to lock you out, but I needed to… not be distracted.”

Amy puts her hands on her hips and cocks her head to one side. “And I'm distracting?” she asks, pursing her lips.

“On occasion,” the Doctor says carefully. “Anyways, I was thinking about what you said you want — what you really want. And.” He clears his throat, looking off to the side. “I think I can help you with that.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” Amy says. She takes a purposeful step towards him, but the Doctor holds up a hand and stops her in her tracks.

“I can’t do it personally,” he says quietly. “And I know you don’t know why, and I can’t tell you. Wouldn’t make any difference if I did, anyway. But I can help.”

Amy frowns at him, then shrugs. “If you say so,” she says, and reaches for the hem of her jumper.

The Doctor stares at the ceiling as she pulls it carefully over her head and drops it to the floor. His eyes flick over to her, though, when she sits on the edge of the bed to take her tights off and slide out of her skirt. When she undoes her bra, he puts on a show of averting his eyes, but she can tell he’s only doing it when she glances at him. When she looks down to step out of her knickers, she can feel him staring, his gaze heating her exposed skin, and as she lies back on the bed their eyes meet for one intense moment.

She smiles at him, drawing her legs apart slightly. “Well?” she says.

“Right,” the Doctor says, clambering onto the bed and positioning himself over her. One knee nudges her thighs apart, and his hands rest on either side of her head, splayed fingers almost brushing her shoulders.

“Right,” he says again, takes a deep breath, and rummages in his coat pocket.

“Doctor?” Amy asks when he pulls out his sonic screwdriver, but he shushes her with a look.

“Just relax,” he says, and presses the screwdriver just under her ear.

Amy gasps when the cold metal touches her skin, then gasps again when the Doctor turns it on with a deft flick of his fingers. The screwdriver comes to life, humming warmly against her neck. The sensation makes her tingle from the top of her head all the way down to her toes, and she writhes happily. The Doctor trails the screwdriver down her neck, over the hollow of her throat, and across her breast. When it reaches her nipple he turns up the vibration, and Amy moans, legs splaying wider. The Doctor teases her nipple until it hardens, then moves on to the other one, circling carefully over her skin.

When he moves the screwdriver away from her breasts Amy groans in disappointment.

“You can touch yourself, if you like,” the Doctor says hoarsely, still tracing a zigzag path down her body with the screwdriver.

Amy brings a hand to her nipple and pinches, smiling when the Doctor visibly swallows.

“Doctor—” she starts, but he takes the screwdriver from her skin and puts a finger to her lips.

“Don’t,” he says, “Please,” and Amy stays quiet.

The screwdriver glides down her stomach, across her hipbones, towards the front of her vulva. The Doctor strokes it up the insides of Amy’s thighs and runs it over her labia, teasing. Amy shifts, trying to make the vibrations hit her clit, but the Doctor puts a firm hand on her hip and holds her still. His iron grip makes Amy moan, and for the first time since he turned the screwdriver on she really thinks about what they’re doing, mentally taking in the whole scene: her completely naked, legs spread and wanting, the Doctor kneeling over her fully clothed, not touching her except to hold her still, his faithfully vibrating screwdriver just barely pushing between her labia. 

The image leaves her breathless, and so when the Doctor presses the screwdriver into her clit she barely has the ability to scream as she comes.

The Doctor barely gives her a moment to stop shuddering from the first orgasm. He strokes the screwdriver between her labia, teasing her entrance, then returns it to her clit, pushing her straight into a second orgasm. Amy shouts and goes rigid, all her muscles tensing then relaxing as she rides out her climax. She’s panting in earnest now, her heart pounding, but the Doctor doesn’t stop, keeping the screwdriver pressed right up against her clit. Her toes curl, her hands fist in the sheets, and her hips strain against the Doctor’s hand as he coaxes her through orgasm after screaming orgasm. Somewhere around the sixth one, Amy sobs out his name, gasping for more, and he flicks the screwdriver onto a higher setting. Amy is swearing, now, her body thrown into one long fit of ecstasy. Her legs draw up, hovering near the Doctor’s shoulders, and her back arches. She comes again and again, “yes” and “please” turning into a wordless scream as the Doctor tortures her clit.

Finally the fierce pleasure begins to cross the line into pain, and Amy gasps, tears in her eyes. “Enough,” she says breathlessly, inaudibly, then again: “Enough!”

The Doctor pulls back the moment he hears her, sonic switched off and fingers leaving marks on her hip. Amy lies boneless and panting, sweat drying on her skin. The Doctor watches her recover silently. He stays absolutely still until her breathing slows and her eyes clear. She props herself up on her elbows and looks him straight in the eye.

“Was that what you were after?” the Doctor asks quietly.

“Close enough,” Amy says.

“Good,” he says, clearing his throat. He hops off the bed and tucks his screwdriver away.

“Glad that’s sorted, then.”

“Mm,” Amy says, rolling over and letting herself sink into the bed. She’s always liked a nap after a good orgasm, and after what he’s just done to her, she deserves a few dozen naps.

“Amy,” the Doctor says, and she looks at him, opening one eye.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t… do things myself,” he says softly. “And I’m even more sorry I can’t explain why.”

“That’s all right, Doctor,” Amy says, stretching languorously. “Got to keep up your intergalactic man of mystery façade, and all that.”

“Right,” the Doctor says again, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. “We’re done here, then.” The statement is strangely introspective, like it’s for his own benefit more than hers. He stares at her for a long moment, then shakes his head abruptly and heads for the door.

Amy waits until his footsteps are almost out into the hall before she speaks: “For now, anyway.”

The footsteps freeze. She looks over at the doorway in time to see the Doctor poke his head back into the room, his eyes wide.

“For now?” he asks. Amy doesn’t say a word, just smiles and closes her eyes, turning her back to him.

“For now,” she hears him say softly. “Yes. Right.”


End file.
